Worth the Wait
by Aurette
Summary: Prof. Snape is having a bad day and decides to drink.  Prof. Granger wanders after him, and he decides she needs to drink too.  It's all uphill from there.  Fluff. M for language and theme.
1. Chapter 1

**AN**: Here's a bit of fluff to tide you over while I hack through the mess left over from my writer's block. Also, I want to brag on two fics. If you haven't been reading **Theolyn's Snape's Ocean**, you have been missing out. And since I _know_ you haven't been reading **JD909626**'s story **The Twist**, I now order you to do so. It's a DM/HG, which I never read, so you know if I am, it's good. Twisty, angsty goodness. Google these ladies and show them some love.

And now: Fluff

**Not Mine, No Money**

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><p>"He's a complete bastard!" Mariope Marsters snapped as she thunked her book down on the library table.<p>

"He always was a complete bastard," said Gillian Sands sympathetically. "My mum said he was an arse when she had him, and Reggie's gran said she had him back when he first became a teacher, and he was a terror then, too."

"Gor, how old is he?" asked William Wythe.

"Ancient," muttered Sands. "He's got to be seventy, if he's a day. I bet he ends up like Binns. Just gets up and goes off to natter on uselessly about the Dark Arts one day and doesn't even realize he's dead."

"Ugh. Please. The only thing that gets me through each year is hoping he'll die in his sleep one summer."

"Nah, Gillian's right. He's so obsessed with the Dark Arts he doesn't even realize the war ended ages ago."

"I think he's obsessed because he got to be a hero for five minutes years ago and wants to be somebody again."

"He didn't even really do anything. He just spied on a few people. Big deal."

"You know he's never left Hogwarts?"

"What, you mean even on holiday?"

"No, ya git. I mean aside from that. He came here when he was eleven and never left."

"That must be why he's such a prig. He's never had a life."

"I bet he's never had a girl."

"Eeeewww! Could you imagine it? Snape naked? Gah. It puts me off my lunch."

"I bet he's too uptight to even wank."

"I bet he assigns his willy detention every morning for being rude."

The laughter of the three Slytherin students abruptly cut off as their Transfiguration professor stepped around the shelf.

"Thirty points each and a week's detentions, the three of you. Report to Mr. Filch _immediately_."

"For what?" said Marsters.

"For what? I heard your little conversation, young lady!"

"We have a right to our own opinions! We was just expressing ourselves in private. A body's got a right to an opinion!"

Professor Granger narrowed her eyes. "The library is hardly private, and it is against school rules to be openly disrespectful of a member of the staff, never mind your own Head of House. I find your attitudes repugnant, the three of you. Now, get out of my sight, or I will drag you to Headmaster Flitwick. I assure you, he won't be as lenient as I."

She stood there with her arms folded and her foot tapping as the three bundled up their books and headed off. She clicked her tongue in disgust and shook her head before flicking her wand and sending off her Patronus to inform Argus of the incoming miscreants.

She walked back around the shelf to where Severus was standing rooted to the ground, looking pinched and pale. She had expected anger, perhaps even fury, but what she saw instead was… _hurt?_

"Severus?" She kept her voice low and placed her hand on his arm. "Surely you didn't let them get to you? They say the same and worse about me on an hourly basis."

He turned his head to her slowly, and she watched as his dark eyes slowly focused on her.

He blinked at her, but didn't respond. Instead, he just turned on his heel and walked away, still holding the book she'd wanted to show him on 12th century Polymorphic Techniques.

Hermione watched him until his ubiquitous black robes were out of sight. _Damn it_. It had taken her the better part of two weeks to cultivate that topic of conversation enough to have him actively participate, and those three little maggots had ruined it in a matter of seconds.

The strange thing was, he usually wasn't affected by their puerile sniping. Or if he was, he'd never let it show before. The fact that he looked so remarkably affected made her stomach twist in her belly.

:

She was on the stairs heading toward her rooms to call it a day when she saw him again down by the entrance. He was bundled up in heavy robes and in the process of wrapping a black muffler around his neck before shoving open the front door. Without a backwards glance, he slipped out into the night.

She'd become caught up in finishing her marking before the weekend and had put the earlier incident out of her mind. Seeing him, it came rumbling back to prick at her.

She turned at the sound of footsteps.

"Professor Granger, what are you up to this evening? Any plans for the weekend?"

"Oh, you know me, Headmaster. A book and a glass of wine make up my idea of a wild night these days."

"Perhaps I could lure you into a game of chess?"

She snorted. Filius was forever trying to help improve her game. She nodded back down toward the entry. "I fear your best chance for a game tonight just headed out the door."

"Severus? Is he gone?" Flitwick clapped his hand to his head, knocking his deep blue hat askew. "Of course he's gone. I'd forgotten the day."

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "What day is it? He looked quite put out earlier today and hardly less so now. Is something wrong?"

Flitwick sighed and turned to head back up the stairs. Hermione followed.

"It's his birthday."

"His birthday? He never told me!"

The diminutive Headmaster laughed. "He never tells anyone. We all learned long ago it's best not to make a fuss. The man hates birthdays. More so every year."

"That's so sad."

"Oh, he'll be right as rain in the morning. Just don't speak to him too loudly."

"What do you mean? Where has he gone?"

"He's gone to get drunk."

"_Severus?_ But he doesn't drink…"

"Oh, he does, but only once or twice a year. It takes him that long to think it's a good idea again."

She stopped and looked back over the rail towards the door. "Perhaps someone should go with him…"

The Headmaster reached up and grabbed her elbow, tugging her along. "Don't even think of it. Only suicidal imbeciles show pity to Snape. I did that once, years ago. I think it was hisfifth year teaching. If you think he can be nasty now, you haven't seen anything. Leave him be. I _like_ you with a head. I forbid you to go."

Hermione laughed. "You know you can't really stop me."

"True, but I promise you, if you go, you'll regret it. It took me several years to get over the things he said about my mother, despite his mumbled apology the next day. I suspect you're an even softer target."

Hermione blanched. She had developed a very good working relationship with Snape over the years, but it was hardly something one would call a friendship. Despite her admiration for him, and there were many days that crossed a few lines in her head, she always suspected that his polite demeanor was only a paper thin membrane over his actual contempt. Especially lately. Her attempts to cultivate a warmer regard had been met with indifference at best.

If he was capable of being that nasty to Flitwick, who had been his teacher, he would eat her alive as his former student.

"I think that's very good advice," she concurred.

The two of them headed up the stairs together.

Once in her rooms, Hermione poured herself a glass of wine, sat in her favorite chair, and opened the box of bon bons her mother had sent her in the mail. She picked up the book, but instead of reading, she turned her head toward the frost-covered window. It was a miserably cold night out. It was a miserable night to be alone.

:

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,_ she thought as she pushed open the door to The Three Broomsticks. It had been her litany ever since she's left her wine unsipped and her bon bons unnibbled. Instead, she'd thrown on her warmest cloak, her thickest socks, and her wooliest mittens so she could stomp through the snow to Hogsmeade.

She was nearly knocked over by the blast of hot air that surged out past her into the cold. She waved at Elise Rosmerta, who had taken over for her aunt six years ago, and headed over to a small table near the fire. Pulling off her hat and tugging off her mittens, she shimmied out of her damp cloak, setting them all on the chair nearest the warmth. When Elise came up, she ordered a glass of claret, and pulled her book out of her pocket.

That she was stupid was beyond a doubt, but no one would ever accuse her of being suicidal. She had no intention of sitting with the gloomy man drinking alone in the corner. She just wanted to make sure he was alright.

She opened her book, set it in her lap, and tried her best to look natural. When Elise came back with her wine, she lifted her head and accidentally made eye contact with him. She thanked Miss Rosmerta graciously and gave Snape a bland smile, nothing more and nothing less than her usual greeting when passing in the hallway. After a delicate sip, she set her glass on the table before her and looked back down at her book, hiding her trembling hands in her lap.

It wasn't that he'd graced her with one of his scathing glares that made her nervous. She'd been expecting that. It was that he was looking at her with intense speculation. Her mother used to get that look when she was picking lobsters from a tank. She turned to the next page, not that she'd read the previous one, and did her level best to try and keep her skin from actually crawling. She could _feel_ his stare, not that there was anyone else to look at. Aside from the two professors, the place was empty but for Elise and her current beau, Jon Tinder, the cook. The usual locals were all home, it was far too miserable to go out.

She sighed.

It was far too obvious why she was here.

She skimmed bits and pieces of paragraphs, usually the same bits three or four times, and almost squeaked in alarm when Snape scraped his chair back from his corner table. She stared at the fire, trying to decide if she should look over at him with banal interest, ignore him completely, or run screaming out into the night.

_Oh, god_. He was coming over.

There was a muted thump as his cloak and muffler landed on top of her own. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a soft voice.

She looked up and him and grimaced. _Best to go with the truth_, she thought. Lying to a Snape was an exercise in futility. His innate abilities didn't really allow him to read minds without a spell, but he could read a lie at twenty paces. "I wanted to make sure you came home safe when you were done," she said quietly.

He plunked his pewter mug down and pulled out the chair across from her. The way he seemed to drop into it, so at odds with his usually strict grace, told her that his drink had already begun to set in. "No, I meant what are you doing at Hogwarts? Why are you _here?_"

He leaned across and gave her a look of pained curiosity. He actually seemed perplexed—and rather vexed by the perplexity.

"Why are any of us there? To teach." She gave him a weak smile and gulped at her wine.

"No. The rest of us are here to rot. You had better choices." He took a deep draught of his ale and sat back, staring into the fire. "I'm very disappointed in you Granger," he said, making her eyebrows jump up.

"How so?"

"Great things were expected of you. Brightest Witch and all that nonsense, and look at you. You're fading away, and you're not even thirty."

"I'm thirty-four," she said quietly.

He turned toward her, and his eyes took a quick inventory of her every feature. "You don't look it. Not like me. I'm fifty-five today, and I look every day of it and more so. _Seventy_, if you listened to those poxy little gobshites." She tilted her head in surprise. "Why do you look so shocked?" he snapped. "I had a mother. I even had a father. I was born, ergo, I have a _birthday_."

She giggled at his indignant scowl. It was one of his most benign scowls. She was beginning to think that Flitwick had missed the fact that Snape had mellowed over the years. "I'm surprised you brought it up, is all. Filius led me to believe discussing birthdays with you might shorten my lifespan. He tried to forbid me to leave the castle."

Snape snorted. "I suppose it's not a misplaced concern, considering my history, but I find I'm not in the mood to be a bastard tonight." He finished his drink and waved at Elise. It was a tired, listless wave, not his usual, sharp commanding gesture. "And another for her," he called.

He turned back to Hermione and jutted his chin at her glass. "You brought this on yourself. If you're going to watch over me, you'll have to catch me. Drink up."

She lifted her glass and drank. "So tell me," she said, setting her book aside. "Why are we rotting?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You tell me. Why aren't you the bloody Minister for Magic?

Her eyes widened at the odd rejoinder. "Minister for—What are you on about?"

He sat back as the fresh dinks arrived and then lunged back across the table. "You had everything," he hissed, "brains, popularity, an idiotic amount of compassion, and what I had thought of as a respectable amount of common sense, all things considered. Yet, you did _nothing_ with it. Why? Why the fuck did you come back here?"

She blinked uncontrollably, completely taken aback by his furious compliments. She stalled for an answer by lifting her first glass and draining it. He pushed the new one over toward her with the back of his long fingers against the stem.

"I always wanted to come back here," she said finally.

He hissed in displeasure and threw himself back in his chair. "Then I was mistaken. You were actually just stupid the whole time." He shoved his mug in his face, muttering, "How depressing."

She did a quick count to ten. Obviously he was baiting her.

"Severus, I've been teaching here for five years. Why are you upset with my choices now? Why are you upset with my choices at all?"

He huffed and stared at the fire. "Because you _had_ a choice. Because you had a life. Because you were supposed to be better than this."

She leaned across the table and looked at him with concern. "Explain _'this.'_ What is it you see that I don't?"

He continued to stare into the fire. "How can you not see? _Look_, Granger. Look at Filius. Look at Sprout. Go and look at Minerva's portrait." He jerked his head toward her. "_Look at me_."

Her mouth went dry and her hair stood up at that last. She had looked. Years ago. The night of the battle. She didn't think he would be happy if he knew just how deeply she had looked.

He turned back toward the fire, and she blew out a long breath.

"None of us had a choice," he continued. "Filius's mixed-blood status prevented him from getting a job anywhere else. Minerva, Pomona, especially Albus and I, we all had scandals at a young age that destroyed us. The Wizarding World has a long memory. Our misfit school is our only home. You don't belong. The rest of us are doomed to plod the hallways year in, year out, until no one is left to remember we were young once. That we might have had dreams of better things." He took a deep drink. "Now all that is left us is to die in our sleep, or stand up and walk off to class one day and not even realize we're dead." He stared down in his cup. "We're already dead."

She leaned across the table. "No, you're not. Not if you don't want to be."

His head snapped up and he leaned closer to her, jabbing at her empathy with his needling gaze. Something shifted in his eyes, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, softer, and yet more urgent. "Quit, Granger. Get out while you can. It's not too late for you, you know. You can find a place where you're happy."

She shook her head. "This is about those students, isn't it? You mustn't let their talk affect you. I would have thought you above their petty little comments."

He snarled at her and pulled back. He drained his mug, signaling for a fresh round, and slammed it against the table. "Why would you think I would be? I _do_ have feelings, you know. And they weren't petty little comments, it was fucking perceptive commentary." He shoved her wine glass closer to her as Elise came up with another.

_In for a penny, in for a pound_, she thought, lifting her glass and taking a not very healthy chug.

"Doesn't it bother you when they call you a frigid cunt? When they go on and on about how you lay in bed at night and hump textbooks?"

She nearly choked on her wine before she could swallow. She burst out with a loud guffaw. "Do they? Those little bastards!" She laughed some more and then swiped at her watery eyes. "To answer your question, no. It doesn't bother me. They're children. Their opinions don't matter to me at all. I spent my young childhood being called a geek, my older childhood being called a Mudblood, and my entire life being called a swot. I could have let it bother me. It would have been so easy to. But in the end, it was easier to stop caring. The last time I was hurt by a comment was the one you made about my teeth back when Draco hexed them to grow past my neck."

He threw his hand in the air. "Another one. Gods. You, Filius, and Lily. One goddamned angry comment and you won't let go of that bone, will you? Haven't you ever blurted something out under extreme circumstances? If you did, I seriously doubt if you were flogged for it the way I've been done."

She tilted her head to the side again. "You remember it."

He looked surprised, and for a fleeting moment he looked like a boy who'd been caught stealing a biscuit. He scowled furiously. "Of course I remember the teeth. It wasn't one of my better insults. I was rather disappointed in myself, but I was under no small amount of pressure at the time. It was a rather ham-fisted comment. I thought of seven better one's within the next ten minutes." He lifted his mug and gave her a devilish smirk. "They all would have made you cry though. Be sure of that."

She burst forth with another deep laugh. "You are a complete arse." She lifted her glass and toasted him before taking a healthy sip. He gave her a smug sneer.

She set her drink down on the table and quietly said, "Your cock is too small."

His eyebrows jumped up to meet his hairline. "_Excuse me?_" he hissed, in a shockingly quiet voice.

She laughed. "You asked if I ever blurted something under duress and was flogged for it. That's what I blurted."

His face colored spectacularly, and then he snorted. "Oh, my. That's almost as bad as—" His eyes veiled and he shifted his shoulders. "Well, I've said some dreadful things in my time." He tossed his hair out of his face before leaning back in. "Did you mean it? I didn't. I was just humiliated and angry."

She sighed, knowing what he was referring to, and yet not drunk enough to broach the topic. Instead, she took another sip before replying. "It was the truth, sadly. I just didn't intend to ever actually say it."

"Same with me and Flitwick's mother."

"What _did_ you say about his mother?"

"Nothing I will ever repeat."

She wrinkled her nose in disappointment. "Well, that's honorable. Are you ever going to tell me what scandals Pomona and Minerva were involved in?"

"No."

"I didn't think so."

They both took that moment to drink. Snape swiped at his lip with his sleeve, a gesture so out of keeping with his normal fastidiousness that it shocked her to her toes. He leaned back across the table and pinned her with an amused stare. "It wasn't Weasley, was it? Please tell me it was."

She shook her head. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Longbottom?"

"Nope."

He paused and stared at the wall. "I don't recall hearing about you and anyone else. The papers did eventually lose interest in the three of you, and Minerva finally copped to the fact that I didn't give a damn."

She giggled and leaned back across the table. "It was Ernie Macmillan," she whispered.

"Who?"

"Ernie. He was in Dumbledore's Army, remember? Hufflepuff?"

"You dated a Hufflepuff?"

"You make it sound like I did something dirty."

"There's nothing wrong with Hufflepuffs. I just thought your taste in men required a bit more… _brawn_."

"And Neville positively screams just that. How much time have you spent contemplating my taste?"

He scowled at her and flicked his fingers at her wine. "I assure you, not as much as your ego would probably wish," he said snidely.

She huffed and drank. She really was drinking too much too fast. She would pay for this later.

She thunked her glass down, irritated. "Ernie was a very interesting man, I'll have you know."

He shook his head. "I can't remember him at all." His demeanor returned to the strange camaraderie that she hadn't thought him capable of. "They do tend to blur. You'll find that out eventually."

"So I hear," she said with a sad smile.

A small silence reigned after that and they both stared at the fire. She was feeling rather mellow and delightfully comfortable with his presence. This was something she'd been working towards for years. She casually raised her hand and patted at the tip of her nose. Oh, dear. It was numb. Always a bad sign. She really needed to slow down.

As for him, he seemed in no hurry to end things, nor to move the conversation in any particular direction. Obviously, he was more than a bit pickled, but instead of making his temper more unstable, it seemed to make him rather... agreeable. She smiled. She liked this Severus. She wondered if her liver could withstand regular meetings with him.

"Tell me, Severus. What do you fear no one will remember? What were your dreams of better things? "

His mouth flattened out stubbornly, and he gave her a reproachful look.

"No, there's an ebb and flow to this drinking thing," she said. "We just shared a secret, and now we have to get maudlin. You started it. You have to follow the rules."

"Oh? And what comes after maudlin?"

She smiled impishly. "Usually, we get a wild idea and do something daft, decide we are best mates, seal it with some bonding ritual, and eventually help each other keep our hair out of the way as we vomit. At least that's my recollection. It's been awhile since I've done this. There might be a more mature version, but if so, no one gave me the updated rules."

His smirk turned into a smile and then a quiet chuckle. "Very well, maudlin it is." He slouched down in his chair, stretching his long legs toward the fire. "I don't think my dreams were ever any different than anyone else's really. I always thought I would finish growing up and marry Lily. I pictured a cozy little cottage in Hogsmeade and a gaggle of little redheaded children all with her nose. We would open up an apothecary and spend all day making potions." He stabbed her with a defensive stare. "Gagging, I know."

"I think it sounds lovely," she said softly. "And after she died? Did you ever dare to dream again?"

He lifted his mug, shaking his head.

"Does it still hurt?"

He breathed a small laugh. "Such a nosey little thing, you are." He set his mug down with a sigh and stared back into the fire. "Yes and no. I'm at peace with her loss. I tried to die for her, but Minerva came and saved me, the meddling fool. I didn't know what the fuck to do with myself after that." He turned to her, lifting and empty hand. "What still hurts is the waste. She could have been something great in our world. Instead, she—" He dropped his hand to his lap and stared at it. "Well, she died, didn't she? And barely twenty years of age, at that." He grimaced, and swung his narrow face back toward her. "Wasted lives are wretched things. It disgusts me that you've fallen amongst us."

She tilted her head to the side. "Even though I'm happy?"

"Then you're just pitiable."

"Am I?"

He leaned back across the table and lifted her drink, bringing it closer to her mouth. "You're falling behind," he said.

She lifted an eyebrow and took the glass but he didn't let go, just tilted it toward her mouth as she took an awkward sip.

He set the glass back down, and his gaze swirled across her features. "What were your dreams, Granger? Didn't you want children? A little home of your own? A man?"

She gave him a small smile and nodded. "I did. But I always felt it would be more convenient at a later date. I was in a mad rush to have a career. I threw myself at the Ministry, determined to scale the heights in a handful of years. It cost me Ron. Then Neville. Blurted honesty cost me Ernie, but there were a million and three other issues there, so if it hadn't been that one it would have been another." She turned to look at the fire. "I _strove_, Severus. I clutched, and I climbed, and I grabbed at what I could to get ahead." She shook her head. "In the end, I didn't really like what I had become. I was never good enough. I was never _anything_ enough. Just being Hermione Granger, wasn't ever enough."

"Those bastards," he said in a harsh whisper.

She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture and turned to him. "It wasn't them. Don't you see? It was _me_. I was the one that told myself I wasn't good enough. _I_ was the one that found fault in everything I did. I was the one that was torturing me." His face reflected confusion, and she sighed and shook her head, tossing a hand in the air. "So I quit. I quit and I looked around for something that would make me content. I knew I would be happy here, and so here I am." She smiled. "Happy."

With no warning, Snape slid his chair around the corner of the small table until he was closer to her, his elbow brushing hers. "Why?" he demanded quietly. "Why are you happy?"

"Because I'm finally just _me_. Being Hermione Granger is good enough here. I don't have to be special if I don't want to be. I love teaching. I love Hogwarts, and I like my coworkers rather a lot."

She placed her hand on his arm. "Severus, if you want to be happy, you have to throw yourself at it. You can't just keep slogging away through life assuming your one chance got away. Happiness is always there, waiting for you to see it for what it is."

His face scrunched slightly. It was less confused, but not completely understanding either. He plucked her hand off his arm and shoved her wineglass in it. "But what about the rest of it? There's more to life than a job. You said you did want a family. What are you doing towards that end? Why don't you have a fellow?"

She wrinkled her nose and looked back at the fire. "I admit that there are certain drawbacks to living in a castle full of teenagers full-time. Personal lives do seem to go by the wayside. There have been one or two gentlemen, summer flings, but nothing ever came of them. Not yet, anyway."

He tapped her wine glass and sat back, sipping his ale. "He won't come," he said.

"Who won't?"

"This person that you're waiting for." He waved a languid hand towards the door. "He's out there somewhere and will never know you exist until you get the hell out of here."

She finished her wine and set the glass down. "Why don't you?" she asked, leaning close and staring into his gaunt, lined face. "Run. Get the hell out. Why are _you_ here?"

He finished his ale and stared at the empty cup. "I wanted to. After I left St. Mungo's I had no plans on ever returning. I was a hero, after all. Why not start over? But that's not how it works, is it? There's not much in the way of employment for an ex-Death Eater, despite an Order of Merlin. I thought about starting my own Potions business, but I was so sick of Potions it felt like going backwards. In the end, I came slinking back. I've spent the last fourteen years trying to instill 'constant vigilance' into arrogant brats who think the world was cured and my job redundant."

She poked him in the chest. "The problem isn't the school, Severus. The problem is your head."

He turned his head from the flames and stabbed her with an annoyed look. "Fuck you, Granger."

"Not drunk enough yet," she quipped. "Look. A job is just a job. How you approach it makes all the difference in the world." She leaned back in her chair, ignoring his reaction to her first comment. "Minimum basic needs, Snape. We need a roof over our heads, and we need food in our stomachs. Feeling fulfilled? That's in your head, not your job description or circumstances. I had a fantastic job, and was miserable. Now I have what you call a terrible job, and I'm happy. Believe me; if you had found a job you enjoyed after the war, you would have been just as miserable. What you're looking for isn't outside, it's inside. You've got to change what happy means."

He leaned closer. "What does it mean to you?"

"Being accepted. Being content with myself. Not inventing fires to put out because I was raised to save the world and didn't know how to do anything else." She squinted at him. "What does happy mean to you?"

He inspected his empty mug and then set it down and pushed it away. "Aren't we done being maudlin? What comes next?"

"I'm not sure if we are. Usually, there's some teary revelation and a declaration of perfect understanding before the maudlin-stage is done."

"There's not enough drink in the world to get me weepy," he said with a sneer.

"Yeah, and I'm not feeling particularly sad, so it won't be me either. Perhaps the plan is a bust."

He pushed back from the table. "I suppose it's getting late. We should head back."

"Really? It's only eleven! I thought this was a bender."

He snorted. "That was the original intention. You fouled the plan." He grabbed up his cloak and hers as well, tossing it in her lap.

"It does seem rather anticlimactic, doesn't it?" She said struggling to her feet. "What if we had an argument? I could wish you happy birthday, and you could take offense. Would that help?"

He snorted again. "I don't have the energy, and it would be a poor way to thank you for your company tonight," he said before heading over to pay the tab.

She smiled at that and began bundling herself up, shoving her book into her pocket. Standing brought on complications, balance was apparently not what it once was. She narrowed her eyes and concentrated on walking in a straight line towards the door.

He pulled it open for her, and together they ventured out into the cold.

* * *

><p>Chap 2 in a flash...<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: Interesting factoid. This was yet another attempt at a PWP. See if you can spot the flaw in the plan...

* * *

><p>"This is the part I hate," he muttered, wrapping his muffler tighter around his head.<p>

"The cold?" she asked.

"No. The walk. It's uphill the whole way back. I can barely keep to a straight line as is."

She laughed and slipped her arm through his. "Come on, we're in this together."

He looked down at her, his muffler covering his lower face. "Is this the bonding ritual you spoke of?"

"Most definitely. Us against the elements. Together, we will gain that hill or die trying."

He huffed a breath and started them up the road. They bounced off each other several times and would have careened in two separate directions had she not been clinging to his arm. Eventually they managed to sync up their sways and achieve forward motion.

"How the devil did you ever make this trek alone?" she asked once they had passed the last cottage and were headed towards the train station.

"I never remember, although several times I've woken in what was left of Hagrid's old hut. Once or twice I've woken up on a couch in one of Rosmerta's sitting rooms. But I was always far more drunk than this. I think I'm getting too old for it anymore."

They reached the train station, and he broke the hold she had on his arm. "Hang on; I need to use the gents."

"Don't be long," she said swiping her mitten along the seat of a bench and plopping gracelessly down on it. She was definitely going to pay for this indulgence in the morning.

He stomped off around the corner, and she pulled out her wand and began creating all sorts of creatures out of ice and snow. A pride of little lions stalked ice gazelles around a slushy watering hole shaped like Snape's boot print. She was about to add a few elephants when she heard Snape start swearing up a storm.

"Buggering hell! Who locks a bloody public toilet?"

"Well, it _is _the middle of the might," she called out. "Break in."

"I tried that. It's fucking warded! I'd have to break the damned seal, and I'm in a bit of a hurry."

She heard him deliver a kick. "Did you try the women's?"

The sound of boots on concrete was swiftly followed by another kick. He stomped back around the corner, accidentally kicking one of her gazelles across the station. The lions took off after it and the rest of the herd scattered. He looked down at them and then back at her and just shook his head. "Come on," he snapped, reaching down and grabbing her elbow. He set a brisk pace up the road and Hermione struggled to keep up.

"You're not going to try and make it to the school, are you? Good heavens. Find a tree."

He scowled at her. "I am not going to relieve myself behind a tree. I leave such behavior to uncouth louts. Walk faster."

"Severus, you're being ridiculous. We're surrounded by things to hide behind, and Hogwarts is too far away." She pulled her arm away from him. "In fact, all this talk has made me need to go. I'll be right back. I need to be an uncouth lout." She skipped off the road and dashed behind a wide, old oak and began fumbling with her skirts. Shimmying her knickers down with mittens on was a bit of work, doing so while the world pitched and heaved was nearly impossible.

He heard his muffled curses and then the sound of him stomping off to the other side of the road.

It was the devil that made her do it. Once she was back on the road, she found what tree he'd picked by the sound. With a giggle, she pulled out her wand and zapped it. The tree shivered and dumped its load of snow.

"FUCK! Oh, damn it all! _Fuck!_ I've pissed myself! _Argh_… gods. _Tergeo!_"

She burst out with a laugh and darted up the road a way, scooping up some snow as she went.

He appeared a few moments later with his wand in his hand. "You did that on _purpose!_"

"I know!" she said, laughing. "I wish I could have seen your face! Oh! That was priceless…"

He growled and bore down on her, and she threw her snowball and took off.

"What the devil has got into you?" he shouted. "And you _missed_! You throw like a girl."

"I bet you do too!" she taunted over her shoulder. Seeing him aim his wand at the ground, she shouted, "No magic!"

He reached down and scooped up some snow, and she let out a peal of laughter and hightailed it for the trees. It turned onto a whoop when she heard the sound of him running after her. A wet splat knocked her hat askew, and another exploded on the trunk of a tree right by her head. With a squeal, she darted behind a shrub, furiously gathering up more snow. She popped up and threw another one, nailing him square in the chest. He reached down and snatched up more snow taking cover by a fallen log. After that, it was a blur. Snow flew through the air, occasionally scoring. Mostly, it just flew. They were both too drunk to aim very well.

There was a long pause, when he didn't throw one at all, and she peeked up over her shrub. When she saw him, he was in full billow, bearing down on her with an armful of snowballs and an honest-to-goodness smile. She squealed, threw the one she held, and took off, darting in and around trees as he wasted ammunition. Reaching the end of the woods, she took off over the field, realizing her mistake too late. From his triumphant shout, he had caught on as well.

Snape's legs were a hell of a lot longer than hers and the snow was much deeper in the field. She hiked up her skirts, but it was no use. He was actually cackling by the time he drew close, and she screamed in frustration when he took her down with a flying tackle. He twisted them in midair, and they landed on their backs in the snow with a muffled thump.

She tried to catch her breath, but was laughing too hard. He groaned and rose up on one elbow, looking down on her with a rueful smile that changed his whole face. "Does that meet our quota of 'get a wild idea and do something daft?' Because I think I might have crippled myself."

She giggled. "It certainly meets the requirements. However, I don't believe there's a quota."

He reached down and swiped a lock of wet hair off her face with his a leather-covered hand. "Would you ever be?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"Would I ever be what?" she asked, trying to swipe the rest of her hair out of her face with a sodden mitten.

"Drunk enough to fuck me?" he replied.

She went still. His face was pale as the snow in the moonlight, and his eyes didn't hide their poignant longing.

She smiled up at him. "I would say your chances are looking pretty good at the moment," she answered.

His warm breath ghosted over her face as he sighed. His face twitched into an unfamiliar smile as his eyes grew warm and tender. Her heart gave a thump and then went into overtime as the moment stretched.

…and stretched…

…and stretched…

"I think this is the part where you kiss me," she said. He blinked, and his brows rose in surprise. He licked his lips and looked suddenly nervous. "Or I kiss you, the rules are a bit hazy," she added, leaning up and capturing his cold mouth.

He made a noise that seemed caught between a grunt of surprise and a groan of pleasure and pressed his lips firmly against hers. The kiss started out awkward and hesitant, but after she captured his bottom lip between hers, it turned into something almost savage. He rolled over on top of her, crushing her into the snow, and his arms wrapped tightly around her. When his tongue swept into her mouth, she couldn't have stopped the whimper of pleasure that bubbled up from her throat.

He tore his mouth free and pulled back, nostrils flaring from his labored breathing. "Granger, are you really going to let me get under your skirts?"

She swallowed and nodded, trying to find her voice. It wasn't as if she hadn't been contemplating this exact scenario for the last couple of years, but that it had always been on her list of 'things that would never happen in a million years.' It had never occurred to her to get him drunk. She hoped the morning would be kind.

He looked almost triumphant as he leaned down and kissed her again, pressing his body along the length of her.

She returned the kiss with enthusiasm, and then shoved him back. "But not here. My arse is getting wet, and I'm cold."

He blinked and then practically jumped off of her, reaching down and snatching her up to her feet. It was too fast. The world spun wildly, and they both ended up windmilling their arms trying to catch their balance. She fell back down when he let go, and he staggered several feet before catching himself.

"Damn. I'm more pissed than I thought," she said, from where she was crouched in the snow on all fours.

He came back over and hauled her up again, slower this time. "Please don't tell me you're too drunk to fuck."

"Are you that eager? You can't be that desperate." she said with a laugh as the world spun.

"You have no idea," he replied, zapping her with a Warming Charm.

Something clicked in her head, and she peered up at him. "Snape, are you really still a virgin?"

The moonlight already bleached the color out of his face, but she didn't need it to know he was blushing. The answer was right there in the way he pulled his shoulders up to his ears and violently shoved his hands in the pockets of his robes.

She squealed and shouted, "This is fan_tastic_!" She danced in a small circle and nearly fell over again for her efforts. "I've always wanted to be someone's first!"

She looked back up at him in time to see his face morph through several different expressions before finally settling on confused, with a hint of defensiveness. "I'm sensing I didn't exactly put you off, but I can't say I understand your enthusiasm. Is this part of the rules? Did that work in lieu of a teary revelation? Are we best mates now? Not to rush things, but I'd like to get laid while it's still my birthday. I'd hate to lose the symbolism."

She tromped through the snow to his side and shoved her arm through his, steering him more or less in the direction of the castle. "Let's hurry then. We have to beat the clock!"

He let her drag him and then picked up speed, shooting her confused looks. "Are you going to explain that little outburst?"

She let out a rapid-fire burst of laughter. "I think that's a fair request. You see, I've never been anyone's first in bed. Ron had already shagged Lavender, and Neville had been with Luna. Ernie, well he was a manwhore. I think he was trying to overcompensate for the fact that his prick was just a short, skinny thing—"

"A little less stress on size, if you will. I'd hate to disappoint."

"With that nose? Please."

He snorted and shook his head. "I thought it was hands."

"True, but I've no worries there either. I've been mesmerized by your hands for years."

He jerked to a stop. "You have?"

"Of course. They're amazingly sexy hands."

"Since when?"

She blinked. "Well, I assume since you finished growing. I can't speak as to how sexy they would have been when you were a child, but I hardly think that was the case. Can we keep moving? The clock is ticking, as they say, and that bloody castle doesn't seem to be getting any closer."

"I could fly us," he boasted. She heard the echoes of the young boy he'd been in the pensieve, trying to impress Harry's mother.

"Have you ever flown drunk?"

He grimaced. "I can't remember, but the odds are fairly good that I've tried."

"Let's just try running, shall we? I'd like to get there in one piece."

"Running's a bit undignified, don't you think? I've already made enough of a fool of myself tonight."

"Did you want to get laid on your birthday or not?"

"That's a valid point."

Together they broke into a stomping run through the deep snow that wouldn't have shamed a tortoise. They found they made better time if they broke apart and just held hands. Once they gained the cleared road, it was much easier going, but they had to stop anyway because neither of them could breathe.

"Gods, I'm out of shape," she said, gasping.

"We're not even halfway," he said in annoyance, bent double with his hands on his knees. "At this rate, by the time we get there I'll be in no shape to get your bloody knickers off."

"Oh, no. That won't do at all. We simply _must_ fuck. I'm so looking forward to it." She grabbed at his arm and started tugging him up the hill.

He trudged along, his left leg seeming to want to go one direction, while the right clearly wanted to go in another. "Although I'm flattered by your keen interest, I have to question your motives at this point. You seem almost more excited than I am. You never finished explaining why you were so excited to be my first."

"Didn't I? Sorry. As I was saying, I've never been anyone's first. I always thought it would be a bit, well, wonderful, for lack of a better word. I mean, to be the object of all that desire finally attained. There's only one first time. With how long you've gone, I think it will be incredible."

He snorted again. "With how long I've been waiting, it's more likely to be incredibly short-lived."

"Oh, but that would be a part of it, don't you see?"

"No."

She sighed and stopped, pulling him to a halt. "I just think it would be splendid to be a part of it as someone discovers how wonderful it is. To be the cause of them losing control would be…" She looked around, but no one had left the needed words lying around where she could reach them. "It would make me feel special," she finally said. She shrugged, feeling silly all of the sudden, and turned away.

He pulled her back. "Hermione," he murmured. "You already are special. You don't have to sleep with me for me to think that." He reached up with a gloved hand and swiped at the hair in her face.

"I don't?"

He narrowed his eyes. "No. But you're still going to. There's no backing out now, it's my bloody birthday, after all, and you said you were up for it."

She giggled and broke into a grin. "Right. We're almost there."

She turned and started off, but he snatched her arm again and pulled her up against his chest. He leaned down and kissed her soundly. She clutched at him, thinking she was falling, but when he broke away with a throaty chuckle, she realized they were flying.

"Not too high!" she squealed, shutting her eyes in fear. She wrapped her legs around him leaving her hat and her dignity on the road somewhere behind him.

He laughed darkly and landed with a slight jolt. "We're here," he murmured in her ear.

She opened her eyes and let her legs sag to the ground, noticing his weak attempt to hold her in place. Seeing the doors to the castle looming in front of them, she graced him with her biggest smile.

"Well done," she said.

He smirked and pulled open the door with a bow and a flourish. "After you," he said.

She curtsied and entered.

The heat from inside the castle hit them like a blast furnace, and they both staggered.

"Come on," she said. "We'll be fine once we're naked."

"Which way?" he asked as they reached the stairs. "Up or down?"

Her rooms were on the fourth floor, and he'd kept his in the dungeons to be closer to the Slytherin rooms. His were obviously closer.

"Up," she replied. Her pretty knickers were upstairs what she had on needed to stay hidden at all costs.

He grabbed her arm and started up. By the time they reached the second floor they'd begun to strip. It wasn't lust, they were about to collapse from the heat and exertion. She snatched off her mittens and began clawing at the catch of her outer robes, while he pulled at his muffler in quiet desperation.

He threw off his heavy cloak and staggered a few feet down the hallway. "_Urgh_," he groaned. "I don't—"

That was all the warning he gave before he doubled over and hurled the contents of his stomach all over the floor.

She dumped her cloak on top of his and hurried to help.

She got one hand on his back and was reaching for his hair when the smell hit. "Oh, _Gods!_" She shoved away from him, nearly sending him sprawling, and threw up as well. Which made him sick again, which made her sick again.

Ten minutes later, they were both stretched out on the floor, retching occasionally, gasping for the most part, and taking turns with badly aimed Evanescos.

She accidently Vanished his boots.

He didn't seem to care.

"You broke the rules," he said with wheezed indignation. "You were supposed to hold my hair, not shove me into a wall."

She stared up at the ceiling, bemused by the fact that after all these years, she'd never seen the ceiling from this angle before. "I tried," she answered. "What the hell did you eat for supper? That was just… _eughch_!" She rolled to the side and gagged uselessly.

"Eel pie. It was the special tonight down the pub."

"You are never allowed to eat eel pie again."

"I like eel pie," he said defensively. "You have no control over what I eat."

"If I'm going to be your girlfriend, I get some say in the matter. You can eat it, but I absolutely refuse to allow you to vomit up eel pie again."

"Who said anything about being my bloody girlfriend? What if I only wanted a quick shag?"

"Oh. Right. I'm getting a bit ahead of myself, aren't I?" She flopped onto her stomach and pushed herself up. "Well, if we're going to shag, we'd best be about it."

"Right."

They clambered to a stand and staggered toward the stairs again, leaving their cloaks, mittens, and mufflers behind. It took ages to reach the third floor.

"Would you even want to be?" he asked, between desperate attempts to breathe.

"Want to be what?" she gasped back.

"My girlfriend?"

"Huh? Oh, that. Yes, absolutely. I've fancied you for quite a while. Would you want me to be?"

He stopped and dropped his hands to his thighs and bent over, huffing. He gave her a glazed eye through his stringy hair and simply nodded. When he'd caught his breath, he pushed on. "I'm not sure if I'm on board with such things as menu planning. Would you make a habit of setting rules?"

She waved a weak hand in the air and struggled after him. "Too much effort. However, I would take it as a kindness if you better planned what you spewed." She grimaced. "Gods, my mouth tastes like I've licked a rubbish skip."

He snickered.

They finally gained the fourth floor corridor by leaning heavily against each other and pushing each other up the stairs. He slid his arm around her shoulders, but it was a little unclear if he was being demonstrative, or trying to stay upright. She took advantage and slid her arms around his waist, garnering a pleased rumble from his chest.

"I have, too, you know," he said in a deep voice. How could such a narrow chest produce such a rich sound?

"Hmm?"

"Fancied you. I have these last four years."

She pushed back so she could see his face. "Really? Why on earth didn't you say something? We could have got this virginity thing done with years ago!"

"_Shhhh!_" he hissed. "Do you _mind?_ I'd rather not have that echoing through the school corridors!

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

They were turning the corner leading to her rooms when she jerked to a stop. "Oh, damn it!"

"What?"

"Birth control!" She looked up at him in a panic. "I don't have any!" She grimaced. "It's… been a while."

"Isn't there a charm?"

"I don't trust them. Ginny relied on them and—BANG!—hip deep in nappies." She looked around. "I know! We could break into the infirmary!"

She started off in that direction, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Best not. Half the Ravenclaw Quidditch team is still up there, and I'm in no shape to Obliviate all the little buggers once they catch the two of us trying to nick some birth control potion."

She nodded. "Well, there are other things we could do. Physically, I mean. It wouldn't be quite the same, but—"

"Not a bloody chance," he snapped, grabbing her hand and dragging her back toward the stairs. "I'll brew the stuff myself."

"Are you sure?" she said as he started back down.

"It's my birthday, and I'm going to get a proper shag. It will only take about twenty minutes."

"True. That's sounds like an average shag."

"No! To make the potion!" He stopped and looked back at her. "Really? Twenty minutes? Is that all?"

"In most cases. We could drag it out with lots of foreplay if you'd like."

He grimaced, obviously in unsure territory. "I'll follow your lead." He tugged on her hand and set off again.

It occurred to her that it would have been far more efficient, not to mention quicker, to continue on to her rooms and use the Floo, but going down was much easier than going up and they were already almost to the third floor.

"Oh, but my knickers!"

He jerked to a halt. "What?"

"I wanted my pretty knickers! These simply won't do!"

He shook his head and continued on. "I don't give a toss about your knickers, Granger. I want what's under them."

"But—"

"But nothing. Keep moving. We can discuss knickers at a later date."

"When?"

"Anytime after I get a leg over."

"Oh, alright."

They headed down to the dungeons at a respectable pace, stopping to pick up their discarded things along the way.

She followed him onto his office and through to his private lab. She'd only been here a few times over the years and found herself smiling all over again. They dumped their outer garments on his desk in a heap, and she collapsed into a chair. "Oh, gods it feels good to get off my feet."

He looked at her with ill-disguised nervousness and then busied himself with snatching up utensils and a number ten cauldron.

"Can I get you something while you wait?" he asked.

"Toothpaste," she replied without a pause.

He jerked upright and looked at her. "Good idea," he said. He gestured, and she followed him past a wall hanging into his personal rooms. They were sparsely furnished, but relaxing. Obviously Snape wasn't one to dwell on _things_. There were a thousand books, an easy chair, a cluttered desk, and a comfy-looking bed. There wasn't a single portrait. She did a mental comparison of his rooms and hers and realized his lab was actually his sitting room. Very efficient.

The bathroom was the same as hers, but he obviously didn't share her love of decoratively packaged bath oils, potpourri, and plushy towels. Snatching open the cabinet over the sink, he pulled out a new toothbrush and handed it to her before snatching his own out of the holder by the basin.

They set to work sanitizing their mouths.

"Good heavens! That's no way to do it," she blurted after she'd spit. "Up and down, not like that. You're not scouring a cauldron, you know. Here."

She took hold of his toothbrush and tried to demonstrate proper brushing technique, only to accidentally gag him. He smacked her hand away.

"Can you _not_ do that?" he snapped. "We'll be in here all night if you keep making me vomit and brush my teeth over and over again."

She giggled at an indignant Snape who was literally foaming at the mouth. He glared at her and leaned over to rinse and spit.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

He gave her a beady stare. "This girlfriend thing might not pan out," he said as he stalked past her.

"Don't judge until you see some of the benefits," she replied, following him back to his lab.

He snorted and began pulling out ingredients. "I've got on all these years without them."

"True, and only you can speak to the quality of those years. But I rather like having someone to cuddle and kiss and care about. I think you might get to like that part as well."

"Don't look to me for cuddling, Granger. You might want to see about getting another cat."

"Oh, I think you might like it if you try."

"Why?"

"Call it a hunch." She walked over to where he was laying out ingredients. "Can I help?"

"No."

She sighed and watched as he set a flame under the cauldron and began chopping. Within a few minutes, his sour expression evaporated and a small smile took its place.

"What has you smirking?" she asked.

His smirk grew, and he gave her a conspiratorial smile. "Do you know how many years I've been brewing this for hormonal brats? This is the first time I'm making it for myself."

She grinned at him. "This calls for a celebration! Do you have anything around here to drink?"

He nodded towards his desk. "There's port, and I think I have some gin as well. Christmas gifts I've never opened."

"No time like the present," she said heading to inspect the shelves over his desk. She found two mismatched glasses and scoured the dust out with a spell.

He took his glass and sipped, before setting it to the side and resuming his dicing. "Toothpaste and port make a ghastly combination," he drawled.

"True, but not as bad as toothpaste and grapefruit," she replied taking another sip. "I propose a toast. To your imminent deflowering!"

He snorted and stepped back, lifting his glass. "Huzzah," he deadpanned. "Only forty years or so late."

"Better late than never," she said, waggling her eyebrows.

He smiled, another real smile, and sipped his port before turning back to his project. "You really are looking forward to this aren't you?"

She grinned. "I am."

"I hope it meets your expectations."

"I know it will. I just hope it's everything you want it to be."

He snorted. "Have no fears there." He set the ingredients into the cauldron, along with two and a thirteenth cups of distilled water and began to stir. "Tell me about your first time, Granger. Was it as special as you say? All that desire finally meeting reality?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Not exactly. It's a bit different for us women. One needs to know how to navigate to be able to make a woman climax, so the first few times tend to be a bit underwhelming on that one point. It was lovely to be sure, don't get me wrong, but definitely something that gets better with practice."

His shoulders stiffened, and she caught a glint of something she didn't understand on his face. "What?" she said, setting her glass down and moving closer.

He darted a look at her from behind his stringy hair. "Nothing. That is—" He shrugged his shoulders. "I just assumed you would enjoy it as well. However, the chances of that seem to be slim, since I hardly know how to 'navigate,' as you say."

She moved behind him and slipped her arms around his waist, careful not to impede his arm movements. "Don't worry. The fact that I actually have my hands on you is fairly swoon-worthy. The fact that I didn't have to knock you over the head and tie you down makes it even better. Besides, I'm older and bolder and have no problem navigating for the both of us. One does eventually learn their partner isn't psychic."

He rapped his stirrer against the side of the cauldron and twisted around in her arms, pulling her firmly up against him. "That needs to come up to a boil. Now, what's this about knocking me about the head?"

She giggled. "That was one of my more violent scenarios for getting you in my bed. The idea of you actually being willing wasn't ever a possibility."

He graced her with an amused smile. "I had assumed the same, although I don't recall ever resorting to violence upon your person in my fantasies. I preferred trickery. Usually Polyjuice."

"Oh! I thought of Polyjuice as well! Not that I ever would have. Far too unethical."

"As opposed to violence?" He smiled down at her. "Lovely how it actually worked out, isn't it?"

She beamed at him. He was incredibly charming when he wanted to be. Who knew?

"May I kiss you again?" he asked in a soft voice.

"Of course! That's one of the benefits to making me your girlfriend, you know. You can kiss me any time the urge strikes you."

He frowned but didn't loosen his grip. "I don't recall making a final decision on that point yet."

"You haven't, but we're giving it a bit of a test-drive, so to speak."

"Hmm."

He leaned down and kissed her, gently at first, but with increasing fervor. Their tongues tangled, and with a low rumble in his chest, he pulled her even tighter against him. Pushing her hips forward, she ground herself against his obvious excitement. The kiss went on and on, each of them seeming to need the other's lips for continued existence. She clutched at his shoulders and he kneaded the muscles of her back.

He pulled his head away with a growl that made her insides turn to liquid. "Birth control," he rasped, letting her go and turning around again. He wobbled, and she kept him upright, using that as an excuse to keep her arms around him. Resting her head between his shoulder blades, she sighed.

"Are you sure about the efficacy of a potion brewed while drunk?" she said, enjoying the way his body moved under her arms and the tautness of the stomach under her hands. She popped open a button and slipped her fingertips inside to feel his warm, silken skin. She was rewarded by a harsh breath escaping him. One of his hands kept stirring, but the other gently covered hers, urging her exploring fingers on.

"I've been brewing twenty gallons of this glop a year for thirty-five years." His voice was a low rumble under her ear. "I can do it in my sleep and frequently have."

"Oh, good," she murmured against his back. "I really don't want children this week."

There was a pause, as she listened to the lulling sound of the potion being stirred.

"But you do someday, correct?" he asked.

She smiled and nodded her head. "Mmm_hmm_. Two," she added. "A boy and a girl."

He sighed contentedly, and she closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his steady heartbeat. Her thoughts dwindled to nothing more than how nice he smelled and how good he felt in her arms.

"Granger."

"Mmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Test driving the cuddling feature of your potential relationship."

He snorted. "Really? Because you haven't made a sound in almost eight minutes, and with how heavy you've become, it feels suspiciously like you're sleeping against my back."

"No_ooo_. Then I'd be drooling. I drool when I sleep."

"Lovely."

"I assure you, I'm a very delicate drooler."

He said something, but she didn't quite make it out. It wasn't until she almost fell that she realized he was asking her to move. He caught her with one arm, while holding a vial of potion in the other hand. She looked up into his glittering black eyes. "You _are_ going to stay awake through this, aren't you?"

She gave him an admittedly sleepy smile. "Absolutely," she said. "I've been waiting too long for this to miss it." She plucked the potion out of his hand and drank it down in one go.

He smiled and swiped a bit of potion off her lip with his thumb. "Well, then. Shall we?"

He took her hand and led her back toward his private room.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Almost one in the morning."

"Oh, no! We didn't make it in time!" She squeezed his hand. "I'm terribly sorry."

He pulled her close, and together they ducked under the tapestry. "I've decided it's my birthday until the sun comes up."

"Good idea." She smiled up at him, and he leaned down and kissed her again. The kiss turned carnal in a heartbeat. They began tugging at the buttons on each other's robes as he backed her toward the bed.

She caught the backs of her knees against the bed and fell onto it. He followed her down faster then he intended, based on his blurted, "Oof!"

He caught himself awkwardly and rolled to the side, trying to drag her legs up off the floor with clumsy grabs. They eventually ended up more or less on the bed with her skirts pulled up to her waist.

"What the hell are you wearing?" he said. His shocked laugh made her grin despite the fact that she should have been mortified.

She snorted and looked down at her bright-red, woolen long pants. "_Not_ my pretty knickers." She tossed her skirt down to cover the offending undergarment and rolled toward him, feeling the bed roll with her. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. Dressing warm was more important than dressing for success."

He smirked and pulled her close. "In that case, I approve of your atrocious choice in lingerie, since you thought of me when you put them on."

She smiled. "I did, didn't I?" She pulled his face close and kissed him, then grimaced. "Is the bed moving to you?"

He nodded grimly. "The whole room is moving. It's making me nauseous."

"Me too." She cuddled up into his arms. "Let's just rest a minute and wait for it to stop."

"That sounds like a prudent idea. We have hours yet."

"They say the best things are worth the wait," she said with a yawn.

"Then you're going to be bloody spectacular, aren't you?"

"Mmmhmm…"

He tightened his arms around her and rested his cheek against her hair.

They were asleep in no time at all.

:

"Gods, I _hate_ her!" yelled Annette Parisi, slamming her book bag down. "Three feet of parchment by Tuesday? Who the hell does she think she is?"

"I would have thought she'd be nicer now," said Martin Sturgess.

"Why?" asked Dalia Martingale.

"Because she's getting it regularly. Isn't that supposed to make a woman more biddable?"

Dalia glared at him. "Where do you get these ideas? Just because she's married now doesn't mean her brain has turned to oatmeal."

"He has a point," Parisi said. "One would think she'd be less of a bitch now that she's married to Snape. Maybe they're not doing it at all. What if it's just a marriage of convenience? Maybe she's frigid!"

"No way. Not with the way he walks around smirking all the time. And Jones said he caught them cuddling when he snuck down to the kitchens last week. Snape _cuddling_, can you believe it? _Uagh_. It puts me off my food just thinking about it."

"Good," a voice intoned. "Then you won't mind having detention through your dinner hour. Will you, Mr. Sturgess?"

The three Gryffindors turned pale and spun around, staring in horror at Professor Snape smirking down at them.

"And Miss Parisi and Miss Martingale as well." He lifted his wand and sent a patronus flitting off through the library. "Mr. Filtch will be expecting you. I suggest the three of you get a move on."

He watched as they packed their things back up and trooped out of the library, before returning to where his wife was giggling behind the shelf. He wrapped his arms around her. "Now, where were we?" he said with a very different kind of smirk before he leaned down and kissed her again.

She slid her arms around him and smiled. "If I remember correctly, we were _cuddling_, of all things," she replied.

"Ah, yes. Indeed. Carry on."

She giggled again as he kissed her once more.

* * *

><p>Ta da!<p>

Did you spot the flaw? *gigglesnort*


End file.
